Silence and Tears
by KoaliBear
Summary: “If I should meet thee/After long years/How should I greet thee?/With silence and tears” Lord Byron Methos runs into an old friend.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first Highlander fic, so please be kind ;)

Seriously, though, constructive criticism is always appreciated and an offer to help beta is even better!

Based on a random plot bunny hopping through the garden of my mind...or something...

Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander or anything affiliated with it. In some cases, this is a blessing coughthesourcecough

* * *

Methos had been enjoying himself at _Le Blues Bar, _drinking his beer and relaxing with his friends, until he felt it. That indescribable sensation of having another immortal in very close proximity: the Buzz. Who the hell had MacLeod pissed off now? For someone so nauseatingly pure and kind, he sure had a knack for making enemies. His hand slowly moved to rest on the hilt of his sword, hidden away by his long overcoat. It was purely reflex--it wasn't as though he could use it in a crowded bar--but it made him feel better. He kept his eyes on the doorway and waited, knowing that MacLeod would be doing the same thing beside him.

His expression changed from wary to shock as he watched a woman enter the bar. She stood about five and a half feet tall with long brown hair and pale green eyes that came to rest on him after scanning the bar.

_As he stood in the crowd gathered at the rostrum, listening to Caesar speak, his attention was drawn by a woman watching from a near-by hiding place. She watched quietly, taking in every aspect of the speech, her green eyes alight with keen interest. Looking back up to the rostrum, he saw those same green eyes on the speaker and smiled to himself. Slowly he made his way through the crowd toward her, taking note that she was too engrossed in the speech to notice his subtle approach._

_"He truly is a gifted speaker," he muttered, settling against the wall opposite her. It tickled him to see her jump as high as she did. Upon closer inspection, Iulia Caesaris actually was as beautiful as the rumours said...not like Helen. _A thousand ships my ass, _he thought. "I bet you don't have much opportunity to see him like this."_

_"You know who I am?"_

_"You have your father's eyes, though, thankfully your mother's looks," he replied with a grin._

_She smiled, seemingly at ease. "I doubt history has seen the likes of him. It is almost as though he has known all along that he was destined for greatness, destined to lead Rome to greatness. It would be a shame not to witness such events simply because I am a woman."_

_"He certainly is a rarity," he agreed, deciding it might be best not to bring up the other great men he has seen nor to say how they have fallen. They lapsed into silence and continued to watch the speech from her hiding place._

"Methos?" Mac's voice woke him from his reverie.

Without even acknowledging the Highlander, he stood up and crossed the room to where she stood. "Iulia."

A delighted smile melted onto her face. "Julia," she corrected. "Nowdays 'Iulia' just doesn't have quite the same ring to it." She paused to take him in. "Unless of course you still use 'Marcus Vitus Tertius'? Or perhaps 'Methos'?"

"Depends on the company," he replied, grinning like an idiot. Five thousand years old and he felt like a giddy teenager! "How have you been?" It was a question he already knew the answer to--hell, he'd been a Watcher, of course he'd looked her up!--but he couldn't help himself.

"Nearly a thousand years and you ask how I've been?" Her laughter rang in his ears pleasantly. "It's been up and down."

Before he even knew what was happening, she launched herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely--or at least that's how he thought it had happened; it was entirely possible that he had moved first.

A subtle coughing coming from the direction of the bar cause him to pull back and finally acknowledge his other friends. "Oh, right," he muttered, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her toward the bar. "Iulia, this Duncan MacLeod"--a sudden poke to his ribs reminded him--"sorry, _Julia_." He cast her an entertained glare out the corner of his eye.

"Hi," she greeted as she reached out and took MacLeod's hand.

"And Joe Dawson." He waited as she shook Joe's hand, then continued, "Joe, Mac, this is Iulia Caesaris. I know, please don't poke me again, but it was that or Julia Caesar."

"As in 'Julius Caesar'?" Joe ventured.

It was interesting to watch her features as she took in what was being said and realized that Joe knew about the immortals. There was barely a reaction visible and if he hadn't been looking for it, he probably would have missed the slight quirking of her left eyebrow.

"Dear old dad," she muttered, barely missing a beat. "I was so glad for future generations when people became more creative in naming their children."

"Wine?" Methos offered. It seemed to him that all the Romans ever drank was wine and Julia was no exception from what he remembered.

"Rome was a long time ago," she replied with a smile, seeming to read his mind. "Beer's fine."

Joe pulled out two bottles of beer, then Julia shook hands with Joe and MacLeod again before Methos steered her away to a quiet table in the corner of the bar to talk. "What are you doing in Paris?" he asked as he slid out a chair for her, then pulled up another one for himself and sat down.

"Wandering," she replied with a shrug. "What else is there to do when you're two thousand and eighty years old with no family or friends to tie you down?"

"Not married, then?"

After drawing a long sip from her beer, she shook her head. "No point. Any relationship with a mortal wouldn't last, and every immortal I've met seems to want my head. And you know how well the first one worked out."

"Haven't seen him since then, I take it?" He couldn't help the smile that slid across his face. It wasn't that he didn't sympathize with her--he had been there to watch it--it was just seeing her again after all these years, he had almost forgotten how much he missed her. Almost.

"He killed Quintus, you know," she muttered softly. "He was a good man and Gnaeus killed him."

Methos's smile turned sympathetic, though he couldn't help but notice how she had avoided answering him. It wasn't something he wanted to push her about now, but it was definitely a question he would ask again later. "After he killed you, I more or less figured."

"How about you? Any marriages?"

He wanted to ask her more, but decided not to push it. "I've been married...let's see...sixty-eight times in my life? That would make...ooh..._eleven_ since we last met."

"You've been busy," she observed, taking another sip of her beer. "After all that time spent married to mortal women it never occurred to you to, maybe, have a relationship with an immortal?"

"Too much of a commitment," he answered shortly.

Julia laughed in response, making him smile inwardly. "How is it any different to be married to an immortal versus a mortal? Seems to me you're averaging at least one or two _mortal_ marriages per century. Why not just one person who makes you happy?"

"Guess I've never met anyone who makes me that happy," he shrugged.

"Either that or you bore easily."

"That too," he acknowledged with a short bark of laughter. "You know, I thought I was supposed to be the cynical old grouch."

Julia smirked. "You were the first immortal I met after dying--it rubbed off."

They fell into an awkward silence, each one staring at the other shyly and looking away when caught. It was Julia who had the nerve to break the silence first; it shouldn't have surprised him. "Did he find you?"

_"I have to leave." He started packing a few personal possessions into a small sack. "You'll have to fend for yourself for now."_

_"But I don't want you to leave," she insisted. "What could be so important?"_

_Methos sighed and turned to_ _face_ _her. "There is a man coming for me, a very dangerous man. If I stay here, you are in grave danger."_

_"And if you leave, I'll be safe?" she asked incredulously. "What if this 'dangerous man' finds out that you and I are companions?"_

_His demeanour changed suddenly and he approached her a little too quickly. "How old do you think I really am? How well do you know me?"_

_Iulia's expression was a mix of shock and confusion and he couldn't say he blamed her. "I know you well enough."_

_With a sigh he reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Run, Iulia. Run and hide. And if you ever hear of a man named Kronos, run faster." He turned away and started packing his things again._

_"Tell me." He felt her come up behind him and felt her hand come to rest on his shoulder. "Please?" There was no way he could deny the pleading tone in her voice; he turned around and began to tell her everything about his past, about the Horsemen._

Bringing himself back to the present, Methos shook his head to clear it; he didn't have to ask to know who the 'he' was meant to be. It was a question she asked everytime she had seen him after long periods of absence since that night. "Yeah."

"And?"

"He lost his head." It was almost comical the way her eyes sprung out of her head in shock, and if he had seen the look not ten minutes earlier, he would have laughed. She knew all about Kronos, and knew that he himself would never be able to take the man's head. "MacLeod took it, not me."

Her expression softened and turned almost sympathetic, though he wasn't sure why. Even after five thousand years women still were a mystery to him and none more-so than Julia; her attitude toward him never quite made sense.

"I'm not sorry," she said firmly, the sympathy still in her eyes.

"Nor should you be."

At that moment Joe wandered over and asked if they wanted second drinks.

"Sure, thanks, Joe." The smile on his face was forced, but Methos didn't care. Talking about Kronos, even if only for a moment, put him a little on edge. His eyes followed Joe, then dropped to the ground.

"Everything okay?" Julia's concerned voice drew his gaze in her direction.

"Fine." Again the fake smile took over.

"For a five thousand year old man, you're a horrible liar. You'd think you would learn something during that time," she snickered. After moving the chair around the table until she was next to him, she leaned over and kissed his cheek as her hand slid up to rest on his arm. "Relax."

Before he could say anything, Joe returned with their beers and Mac, then pulled up another chair and sat down at the table with them. "You know, all this time I thought he was full of it when he said he knew Julius Caesar."

"Hey!" Methos exclaimed in protest.

"I have one word for you: vomitorium!" Joe shot back.

The memory of a discussion on immortals in ancient Rome flashed quickly into his mind. But before it could resolve itself into much detail, he saw Julia's expression change to one of disgust.

"The one thing I don't miss about Rome."

"Wait." Joe turned to her in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"_Pappavimus, bibivimus, eructavimus._"

A loud bark of laughter erupted as he remembered saying those same words to Joe in English. "We ate, we drank, we vomited," he translated, still laughing.

"Somehow not as poetic as '_veni, vidi, vici'_, but effective nonetheless," Julia mumbled with a fond smile.

"What was he like?" Mac asked suddenly.

He had been afraid that one of them would ask something like that. His eyes shifted to Julia to gauge her reaction and bail her out of the situation if needed. Even after two thousand years he was pretty sure Julia still missed her father--they were very close.

"He was a great man," she replied quietly. "Full of passion, and wonderful rhetoric. Not only could he talk a man into going to his death voluntarily, he could also make him think it was the most brilliant idea he'd ever heard." Admiration and love filled her voice as she stared off into the distance, smiling.

"You saw him speak?" Joe prompted.

"'Course I did. In fact, that's how I met this lump," she replied, indicating Methos with a flick of her eyes. "I saw Cicero speak as well, and dad could knock him out of the water with one of his speeches." The wistful smile became a proud one.

They talked long into the night about Julia's father, about her past, about how she'd met Methos. A few times they contradicted the history books, earning looks from MacLeod and Joe that suggested they weren't sure whether to believe them.

At three o'clock in the morning Julia let out a loud yawn and the group decided to call it a night.

"So, where are you staying?" Methos asked as they left _Le Blues Bar_.

"I've got a hotel room not far from the Eiffel Tower." Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her long black trenchcoat and she wore a wide grin that was, apparently, contagious as he caught Duncan smiling as well.

"I've got room on my barge," MacLeod offered. "Could save you some money."

Okay, so maybe the smile was more smug than happy, now that Methos thought about it. He cringed inwardly. Would it be wrong to sucker-punch a friend? _Wait, what am I thinking? _A hand threading its fingers with his interrupted this line of thought, and he turned his head to see Julia smiling at him. Rather suddenly he felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Thank you, Duncan, but I've already paid for the hotel room," she dismissed the offer, turning her smile back to the Highlander. "Seems to me it would be waste _not_ to use it. Perhaps another time, Duncan, thank you. Methos, do you have a car?"

"Um, yeah." _Good response, very clever sounding,_ he chided himself.

"Care to drop me at the hotel?"

Rather than tempt fate by trying to speak cleverly, he instead offered her the crook of his arm in response, smiling as she slid her hand through it, then guided her toward his car.

"Goodnight, Duncan. It was a pleasure meeting you," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Opening the door to her hotel room and entering, Julia sighed. The night had been a good distraction from everything that had happened in the last few weeks. She smiled to herself, remembering the events of the evening as she shed her coat and dropped it onto the bed. As she picked up the remote and turned on the television she crossed the room and flopped down on the bed, flipping through the channels.

The sensation of The Buzz froze her to the spot. Did she forget something in the car? Had Methos come to return it? "God, I hope so," she muttered to herself.

A knock at her door caused her to reach for her still sheathed sword in the folds of her coat as she rose to answer it. _Please let it be Methos,_ she thought to herself. She opened the door and almost immediately dropped her sword. For someone she'd heard historians describe as a "happy drunk", Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus didn't look very happy. Or drunk.

"Gnaeus," she whispered, backing into her hotel room. A small voice in the back of her head told her that it was a stupid move, backing into closed quarters with only one exit that a very large, very angry man was blocking, but her body wasn't listening to that voice.

"You're a hard woman to track down," he muttered, a wicked smile slowly spreading across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to those who reviewed chapter one and put it in their alerts! :)

Note: I changed the name Methos used when he met Julia to Marcus Vitus Tertius

* * *

Julia winced as Gnaeus tightened his grip on her wrist, turning it in a direction it wouldn't normally go, and pulled her toward his car. Through the fear and pain one nagging thought persisted: she had to get to Methos.

When they reached his car, knowing this was her last chance, she made her move. With a speed and strength she didn't know she could possess around a man who terrified her so, her hand wrenched itself from his and reached up toward his head. A strangled, angry cry escaped his lips as she slammed his head against the car.

Without pausing to see if he was conscious or what damage she had done Julia ran as fast as she could out of the car park and down the road until she saw a taxi approaching. She flagged down the taxi, climbing in the back almost before it stopped completely. "That way," she indicated the direction the driver had just come from, the direction away from Gnaeus.

Risking a glance back in the direction of the car--luckily there was no visible movement--she pulled out her cell phone and dialled the number Methos gave her. "Pick up, pick up," she muttered impatiently.

Finally a voice that sounded half-asleep muttered something that resembled 'hello'.

"Methos, where do you live?" It was hard to fight the panic in her voice.

"What?"

With forced patience she repeated herself. "Your address, where do you live?"

"Why do you need to know that? What's going on?" He seemed to have woken up.

"If you don't tell me, the taxi driver will be very lost," she replied irritably. Relief flooded her as he gave her the address without further delay and she repeated it back to the driver.

"Julia, what's going on?"

"Just...just get dressed and meet me outside, please?" Without waiting for an answer she hung up and waited anxiously for the taxi to arrive at his house, looking out every window for signs of Gnaeus.

Logically she knew she would sense him as he neared, but rationality wasn't her strong suit at the moment. As the cab pulled to a stop ten minutes later somewhere in the vicinity of an immortal she could sense, she realized just how paranoid she was being--it took her a moment to realize that the cab had slowed because it had arrived where she had told it to and that the immortal was Methos. Relief flooded her and she grabbed too much money for the taxi driver, telling him to keep the change. It didn't matter that she had given him more money in tip than for the service, all that mattered was that she was safe and finally able to relax.

Trying to get out of the taxi as fast as she could, she tripped and almost fell facedown on the pavement. "That was embarrassing," she muttered to Methos as he helped her up.

"Are you alright?" His voice was a mixture of concern and amusement.

"Fine," she replied, choosing to only answer his amusement. As she watched the cab drive away, she wrapped her arms around his middle, leaned her head on his shoulder, and hugged him tightly. "Can we go inside now?"

She felt him nod then begin to turn her around toward the door, an arm still firmly around her waist. His eyes were on her all the way from the sidewalk to his apartment, she could feel it.

"Coffee?" he offered as he closed the door.

"At three o'clock in the morning?" she asked, her features scrunching up in disgust.

"Beer? Tea? Water?" he offered as he approached her and helped her remove her coat.

Instead of answering him, she waited for him to put her coat down, then plunged right in to why she had called in the first place. "Gnaeus. He found me." Somehow it felt like there should be more detail than that, but it really did sum up the situation rather neatly.

"What?"

Reasons she couldn't comprehend prevented her from looking up at him, so she directed her gaze toward the wall and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. His hand on her cheek startled her and she wondered how he had crossed the distance between them so quickly. "What happened?" he asked softly.

It was hard to get the words out, but she knew she would have to eventually. "He found me. At the hotel. There was a knock on the door. I thought it was you, so I opened it. It wasn't you." Why the hell was it so hard to meet his gaze?

"How did he find you?" Flattening his hand to cup her cheek, he gently tilted her head so that she was forced to look at him.

Instead of replying, she shook her head and slid forward into his arms. For a long time neither one spoke, seemingly content that she had escaped unscathed and was, at least for the moment, safe.

Suddenly he pulled back and looked at her questioningly. "Where's your sword?"

Laughter slowly bubbled from her until she was in a full fit of giggles and Methos was looking at her as though she'd just grown another head.

"Wasn't trying to be funny," he muttered.

"Sorry," she giggled. When she'd finally stopped laughing, or rather stopped laughing enough to speak, she continued. "It wasn't funny, just very random in the middle of a serious moment. I wasn't expecting it."

"Well?" he prompted, smiling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She really didn't want to tell him that she'd been such an idiot, but she'd have to eventually. And she would eventually need her sword back, which would involve him coming with her as she really didn't want to go to the hotel alone. "Dropped it at the hotel when I answered the door," she muttered quietly. Her cheeks were burning bright red, she could feel it. Of all the stupid things she could have done...

"Think we should go get it?"

The smartassed grin on his face made her smile. "Later?"

"Later?" he laughed. "Is that before or after room service finds it?"

"You're an arrogant pain in the ass," she muttered with a sigh. "Can I at least rest for a bit? I'm exhausted."

"Not for long, though," he conceded with a nod of his head. "With him out there the last thing we need is for you to be on the news because a maid found your sword and called the police." He pulled back and began rummaging through his drawers. "Here," he called in warning as he threw a t-shirt and a pair of boxers at her. "You'll be more comfortable in those."

She thanked him and turned toward the bathroom to change. "Only a few hours, yeah?"

"Only a few hours."

Really, she should have known better than to trust that grin.

* * *

Several hours later she awoke slowly; something solid had replaced her nice, soft pillow and was pulling her closer. _What the bloody hell?_ She sat bolt upright and looked down to where she had been laying so comfortably only a moment ago, to where Methos was looking at her very strangely.

"Sorry," she mumbled as she leaned back down, curling up against his chest, "but last time I was conscious you were a pillow."

"What?"

She would have replied, but something shiny caught her attention; something shiny and sword-shaped. "That's my sword," she muttered. Then it hit her. _That lying bastard!_ Now she was angry. "That's my sword! You left me!" Leaping off the bed, she grabbed one of the pillows and smacked him with it. "You ass!"

"Hey!" he shouted, raising his arm to protect himself from the feathered assault weapon. "I did NOT leave you! I-"

But Julia wasn't listening. She was mad and she had every right to be. "If you didn't leave, then how did my sword get here?"

Another smack with the pillow.

Only this time instead of blocking it, he grabbed it and used it to pull her to him, spinning her around so that her back was to him as she fell. He hugged her tightly to him, probably to prevent further attacks with the pillow. "I did not leave," he hissed in her ear. "I sent Amanda to get it, and had her call me to pick it up downstairs so as not to wake you."

"Who?"

"Amanda," he repeated. "She's a...friend...of MacLeod's."

Suddenly she had become the bad guy. Great. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm horrible."

"And I'm an arrogant pain in the ass," he shot back in monotone. "You want a beer?"

Turning herself so she was sitting sideways in his lap, she smiled softly and slid an arm behind his back. "First thing in the morning?"

He sighed and smiled, making Julia's heart melt. "There's just no pleasing you, is there?"

"I would love a tea."

"Tea?" he repeated, smile still firmly in place. "You're not going to change your mind? Not too early in the morning?"

"You're mocking me!" That damned smile of his continued beaming down at her. "Just make the tea." Laughter erupted again, this time from both of them, as he scooped her up in his arms as he stood, then dropped her on the bed like a dead weight and walked toward the kitchen, followed by a pillow that just barely missed his head.

* * *

_Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus watched angrily as Iulia Caesaris--his wife, the woman who was supposed to be his and only his, the woman who was (supposedly) carrying his child--sat down on the steps of the Templum Concordiae next to Marcus Vitus Tertius. Tertius, the insufferable man, seemed intent on stealing his property._

_He could hardly go to Caesar about this, the man actually_ liked _and_ trusted _Tertius; but he knew better, saw Tertius for who and what he really was._

_The only problem was that he had seen the other man fight. It was only the once, but it was enough to know that Tertius was faster, had more strength, and was in better shape than he was._

_So, what could he do? He needed Iulia to keep favour with her father and it really would do his reputation no good to have his wife..._cavorting _with another man. Especially a man like Tertius, who clearly held more favour with Caesar than he did._

_He tore his gaze from his enemy to his wife, then trailed his eyes down to the bulge in her stomach. When they'd had trouble conceiving, rather than risk Caesar's wrath, Gnaeus had decided to stage a false pregnancy to save face._

_A devious smile cut its way across his face as a plan began to form._

Pompey shook his head to clear the memory, the action only making his head ache more. He grimaced in pain.

Tertius.

Julia had to be with him.

"Find Tertius, find the wayward wife," he muttered angrily to himself.


End file.
